Months later, riding lonely through the gorge,
I saw it still, among the long-grown grass.
It was well done; my soul is satisfied.
Friendship is sweet, and Love is sweeter still,
But Vengeance has a savour all its own—
A strange delight—well known to those who kill.
Such was the story Afzul told to me,
While wood-fires crackled in the evening breeze,
And blows on hammered tent-pegs stirred the air
Sweet with the fragrance from the Sinjib trees.
Tent-like, above, up-held by jagged peaks,
The heavy purple of the tranquil sky
Shed its oft-broken promises of peace,
While twinkling stars bemocked the worn-out lie!
64
